Tuesday, September 11, 2007


She came bearing gold
like something stolen from the sun
they called her "bright"
beauty beyond all that is good
with smiles of icycles.
proud, haughty, blue
heart thumping unburnable
like a glacier.
mother of wolves
summoner of the dark
stirrer of envy
seducer and curser
animator of the barren
soulless genius
turning souls to ill
wrapped in the barren fens
the leafless woodlands of gnarled
iron at the edge of the east.
All were her toys
pawns in a great game
with knowledge beyond compare
having seen secrets no god knew
she rose again and again
she kept coming
wreaking havoc, mayhem,
smiling, laughing, staring,
glaring, waiting, ever so
patient, waiting, planning,
monsters, unthinkable
aberrations, abominations.
The sun sheared through her
and would share nothing.
Abandoned, lost, cast aside
as a child
left to the giants, the chieftains
of frost. carrying a secret
a resentment, lost
birthright. she would have all
in her hands
or crushed
dust to bring it all down.
The twins were cast down
face down
melting the snow. And the mother
walked away
leaving only hated clans of outcasts
to raise them.
She loved her brother
and when she loved,
monsters were born.
Mastermind, plots she
revenge and end of gods
sowing seeds of discord
in hidden homes spreading
curses. Truly
her name is mighty, her empire
vast, even her daughter
rules kingdoms of decay,
disease, and wraiths, while she
prepares for the final battle.
Insinuator, insidious, behind
the scenes mistress, master
machiavellian, manipulator,
money-greed, riser, scaling
unseen, everywhere, glorious
in all evil. She would rise as a star
to the heavens, she would not
be stopped, bright, glittering
like gold with no warmth, and if only
she could gain that fire
stolen from her long ago,
she might promise
to be the greatest of them all.
She was prayed to, a goddess,
no one saw
the little girl crying
beneath the mask that showed
whatever you wanted to see
so she could have you
where she wanted you.
Hers is a love story
without love, She needs love
so much love as an endless hole
even the goddess of love
could not fill with all her might
and main and magic. But if we cry
for her, as we cry
for fallen father, perhaps
against the prophecies
she too
might rise
like the sun on the end of a blade,
casting off all sorrows,


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